


hold and release

by 0neType



Series: Bread and Circuses [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Comfort, Dubious Consent, Ecto-Body Parts, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Light Bondage, M/M, and, at the end, dw there's like, let me know if there are other tags I should add, uhhh man idk all that makes it sound real heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6101890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Head of the Royal Guard, Papyrus holds a lot of power in Snowdin. But power comes at a price and the populace needs to be kept happy. The simplest thing to do? <i>Give them what they want.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	hold and release

**Author's Note:**

> ~~i don't think this warrants a dubcon tag but if even the slightest hints of that messes you up, you may want to avoid this. :(~~ otherwise, enjoy!
> 
>  **EDIT** you know what, I'm gonna go ahead and add that tag anyway LOL better safe than sorry B'')

His brother tugs him roughly by the leash on his collar and Sans stumbles after him, arms tied at his front. Fresh snow has fallen in Snowdin and his shoes kick up some frost with every step he takes. He struggles to keep his balance. Papyrus does not notice.

As they approach the usual place, Sans feels his soul pound at the sight of the crowd that's gathered. The tree that is usually there has been replaced for a raised, wooden stage that is all too familiar to him by now. Sans swallows, mouth dry.

They near and all eyes turn to face them. There's an excited rumble spreading through the crowd and Sans can feel his face heating with the start of a flush. He lowers his gaze to the ground. He can't look anyone here in the eye when he knows what they're here to see.

Papyrus tugs him up the steps onto the stage while the crowd gives a cheer. He's almost up the last stair when his brother tugs particularly hard and Sans falls forward with a yelp, face smacking against the wooden floor. The crowd laughs and Sans inhales sharply. He ignores the pain.

“Get up.” His brother growls at him. Sans does as he says, though it's not easy with his hands tied and the leash pulled taut. Once he's up, Papyrus pulls him in closer till he's brushing against his brother's side. Sans shivers. Papyrus briefly looks down at him, bending slightly to remove his bonds. Sans flexes his hands, knows in his soul that the relief is temporary.

“Welcome,” Papyrus addresses the crowd, “To our annual demonstration.”

There's a burst of cheering from those gathered, loud and enthusiastic. Sans feels that familiar pulse of anxiety at the sound. He stares studiously at his feet, unwilling to face the onlookers.

“Let's get started.”

There's no further warning.

Papyrus grabs him and Sans just barely manages not to yell out in surprise. His brother rips his jacket off of him, sharp and quick, and Sans does his best to block out the jeering from the crowd. His winces at the sound his jacket makes as it hits the floor. Papyrus hardly pays it any mind, instead turning him crowd-ward as he moves to pull off his sweater.

With no choice but to face the monsters gathered as his sweater comes off, Sans feels his face start to burn. They're all looking at him with a hunger that makes his bones stiff with fright. He doesn't want to see; doesn't want to recognise anyone in the crowd. He would rather be oblivious to the identities of those that have shown up. Otherwise, how would he face them after this? How could he face them if he knew what they had _seen_?

Papyrus pulls down his shorts and Sans can't hold back a whimper as he’s left bare. He doubts the crowd has heard it, but they laugh at the display regardless. Papyrus, however, has most certainly heard. He turns him back around and Sans is suddenly staring into the dark of his eyes. His brother is frowning.

Sans flinches at the sound of tearing and looks down to see Papyrus rip up the fabric of his shorts. He doesn't understand at first, but then his brother brings a lengthy strip of the black material up to his face and Sans feels his chest tighten. Papyrus tightly ties the make-shift blindfold around his eyes and Sans is a little disgusted with himself for feeling relieved.

But at least this way he won't have to see them watching.

“Down.” His brother commands but Sans finds himself unable to move. Papyrus _tsks_ before spinning him back to face the crowd and pushing him to his knees. Sans clenches his jaw to keep from making a sound as the hard wood cracks against his kneecaps. His hands are jerked forward and his bonds are retied.

The crowd is silent. He takes a shivery breath in anticipation. His brother never stays inactive for long.

True to form, he feels Papyrus’s gloved hands quickly come up from behind him to grab his bottom-most ribs. He strokes them roughly to the hooting of the crowd before brushing his fingers up and down his ribcage. Sans can feel the heat of his brother’s magic on him and can feel the tingle of his own as it responds. Still, he’s unprepared when Papyrus wraps a hand around the bottom of his spine. Sans gasps aloud and the crowd hollers riotously for more.

“Open your mouth.” His brother’s voice brokers no argument. Slowly, hesitantly, he un-clenches his jaw. The crowd snickers. Sans can feel himself flush under the heaviness of the gazes he cannot see.

“Stick out your tongue.” His face burns with humiliation as he does just that, sweat beading up on his forehead. Just having his tongue out like this makes his mouth instinctively start to water. He doesn’t want to think about what he probably looks like right now. Nothing has happened and he already feels like a mess.

One hand still firmly around his spine, his brother’s free hand comes up the side of his face and his fingers slip past the sharp of his teeth into his mouth. He can hear the crowd chattering but it becomes hard to focus once Papyrus starts working the hand at his spine up and down. It’s all he can do not to bite down on the leather-clad fingers stroking his tongue.

The wet sounds from his mouth seems abnormally loud to him and he wonders, briefly, if the people at the back of the crowd can hear. He wonders how many of them have seen this before and how many were looking forward to today when they would get to see him like this again. He feels sick at the thought so he stops thinking. He tries desperately to focus on something else.

Papyrus gives a particularly strong tug at his spine and suddenly it becomes easy to pour all his attention into that instead. The burn of his brother’s magic spreads down his spine and Sans can feel the weight of his own start to pool in his pelvis. By the time the crowd starts to whistle and hoot, Sans is already embarrassingly aware of the erection that’s formed. Papyrus is too.

His brother’s fingers slip away from his mouth and trail down his side. They leave the sticky, wet of saliva wherever they brush against his body and Sans shudders at the feeling. Papyrus's fingers crawl past his femur and curl over the crest of his pelvis, resting there, full of intent. Sans finds himself panting, low and breathless. The crowd is excited, waiting.

He can’t see so he has only his touch and hearing to rely on to gauge his brother’s next move. But Papyrus remains still. He does not shift and he does not say a word. Sans takes a shaky breath, ashamed at how needy he feels even when he’s being put on display like this. Maybe even _because_ of this. He shifts slightly, but Papyrus only deigns to rub his thumb against his pelvis in an almost absent motion. A low whine rises from the back of his throat. In the silence, it is obscenely loud and Sans is mortified with himself.

It is enough, however, to push Papyrus to move.

At the first touch of his brother’s fingers against his length, Sans gasps. The crowd immediately starts up with their cheering once more. Papyrus’s left hand falls away from his spine while his right firmly grasps the base of his cock.

“Tell me what you want.” His brother demands and Sans can hear the laughter around him as his dick twitches at the hard snap of his words.

“I-I…” he tries, closing his mouth to wet it before trying again, “I… god, please, I-I just…”

“ _Tell me._ ” Papyrus is insistent, hand un-moving even as San’s dick hardens with interest.

“T-t…” he stutters and the crowd laughs. He feels like his face is on fire. He tries again, “Fuck. P-please. Just _t-touch_ me, I’m…”

“I’m _already_ touching you.” He sounds almost bored and Sans can feel the sting of embarrassed tears at his eyes.

“B-boss, _please_.” he whines, humiliated to be asking for something like this with everyone watching.

Papyrus does not relent, “ _Tell me_ , Sans.”

He takes another quivering breath in a fool’s effort to calm himself, “I-I… B-boss, please, j-jerk me off, I’m… _f-fuck_ , I’m so…!”

Papyrus gives him two quick strokes, roughly up and down without finesse. It doesn’t matter. Sans groans loud and broken as he does it and the monsters gathered titter with excitement. Papyrus pauses briefly and Sans takes the time to regain his breath and try to stop his soul from pounding right out of his chest. When his brother starts up again, Sans’s mouth falls open automatically and he can’t stop himself from the lust-ridden moaning that erupts. The crowd jeers and he feels his breathing stutter as tears form behind his blindfold.

He’s such a fucking mess. He must look disgusting. He wishes his hands weren’t tied so he could at _least_ muffle the awful noises spilling from him. Maybe that way he could have maintained some semblance of control.

Papyrus continues to stroke him, pace fast and practiced. Sans knows he’s close, can feel the building pressure in him inching towards release. His brother runs his thumb over the head of his cock and Sans jolts in his grasp, panting. Papyrus repeats the motion, agonizingly slow and Sans’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, wet and dripping. His brother does not stop, jerking him a few more times before rubbing circles against his head over and over, and finally pressing hard at his slit.

“Ahh…!” Sans hunches over on himself, spilling into his brother’s hand, “Uhhnn, _fuck_.”

The monsters gathered are whooping and cheering but Sans can hardly hear it over the deafening buzz of his own orgasm. He’s thankful he’s sitting because his legs feel wobbly and he doubts he’d be able to stand. He blinks blearily behind his blindfold, only shaking out of it when a soft mass is dropped into his lap. Still blinded by the fabric over his eyes, it’s only when he feels the worn tufts of fur that he recognises it as his jacket.

His brother leans over him, mouth close and voice quiet, “Put it on.”

“Pap—” He starts, but is cut off by the sharp tug of the collar he’d forgotten he was wearing.

“ _Don’t_. Not here.” Papyrus hisses, too low for anyone but him to hear.

“S-sorry, Boss.” He says instead and his brother’s silence is his only answer. He feels Papyrus crouch down beside him, though. Hears the sharp flick of a knife as it opens. He holds his hands out and his brother slices easily through the bonds before moving to untie the blindfold. With his hands free, Sans slides back into his jacket.

He’s about to zip it up when a shout comes from the crowd.

“Fuck him!”

Silence follows the outburst. Sans's hands still at the front of his jacket. He doesn’t recognise the voice; doesn’t know what he’d do if he did. The crowd begins to whisper. Papyrus finishes uncovering his eyes and the first thing Sans does is look up at him. His brother is watching the crowd, his expression blank.

“I don’t take requests,” He says, voice far calmer than Sans feels in that moment, “Especially when they’re given unasked.”

Even as he says it, Sans knows that it won’t be enough. He’s certain Papyrus knows it too. There is a certain image his brother has to maintain. He holds power but, in a place like the Underground, it means nothing unless you can back it up.

He doesn’t know where Papyrus will go with this. Either he’ll have to figure out who spoke out of turn and… _deal_ with them which risks the disapproval of the crowd… or… Sans tugs at the bottom of his jacket, mind racing.

Or, he’ll have to…

Papyrus’s hand comes down on his shoulder, firm, and Sans jumps where he sits. Sans watches him, soul flickering with unease. Still his brother is not looking at him but, as he speaks, his grip on Sans only gets stronger.

“However. I’m feeling generous today,” Sans tries to keep calm but the sweat breaks out anew over his skull as his brother continues, “You can all consider this a reward for your continued adherence to regulations.”

Even as the monsters gathered applaud with excitement, all Sans can hear is the sound of a zipper as it’s pulled down. He’s not looking at his brother anymore but he doesn’t need to. He’s never been more aware of his brother’s presence by his side. Papyrus places another firm hand on his shoulder, steering him away from facing the crowd and towards him instead.

When he turns, Sans is faced with the sight of his brother's cock, already hard and dripping. His face is burning with shame. He wants to look away but he knows he can’t. So, instead, he sits and waits for Papyrus to make the first move.

“You’ve done well with your mouth today, brother,” Papyrus says and the crowd chortles, “But let’s get some _real_ work out of it, shall we?”

Sans doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. Papyrus grips himself in his hand and moves forward, taps his length against Sans’s teeth. Sans resists the urge to flinch.

“Well?” His voice is as stern as ever.

There’s no blindfold to protect him now and Sans can see the crowd out of the corner of his eyes. They’re all watching intently. There’s a glee in their faces that makes his soul churn uncomfortably.

He opens his mouth.

“And?”

He sticks out his tongue. He can hear hooting from the crowd again and he squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could block out the sounds.

“That’s better.” With that, his brother pushes himself into his mouth.

Maybe shutting his eyes wasn’t the best of ideas because it leaves him unable to prepare himself in time. As his brother pushes forward, Sans is already choking, swallowing desperately along his length and trying to breathe around him. Papyrus’s hand comes up and presses against the back of his skull, moving him further still. The stretch burns down his throat.

“Swallow.” His brother says, and Sans tries his best but it’s difficult when he already feels so full. He drooling now, and it pools from his mouth and falls down his chin since there’s no room for it inside of him. He manages to swallow a few times and it becomes easier as his mouth becomes more accustomed to the invasion. Papyrus gives a low groan as he slips all the way inside. Sans feels filthy.

“It seems there _are_ some things you are useful for after all, brother.” Sans shivers at his throwaway compliment.

Papyrus grabs either side of his skull with his hands and Sans prepares himself. His brother slowly drags himself almost all the way out of his mouth. Sans manages to gasp in a shaky inhale before his brother slams back in. He chokes and pained tears well up again in his eyes, only filling faster as his brother starts to pound into him. Papyrus adjusts Sans’s head, dropping him lower to accommodate his length down his throat. His pace is fast and unforgiving, leaving Sans feeling bruised with his thickness.

He slows suddenly, almost stopping inside of him. Papyrus grinds his head against the back of his throat and Sans finds himself unable to breathe. His hands scramble for purchase on the floor beneath him while his pleas are simply muffled against the fullness of his mouth. Papyrus continues to slowly rub himself off inside of him. Sans thinks he may black out. The burning stretch finally causes the tears to spill down over his face.

His brother pulls all the way out.

Sans falls forward onto his hands, gasping loudly for air. He coughs and hacks, soul pounding. His throat feels raw and every breath he takes feels like burning.

“Look at me.” He almost doesn’t hear his brother say it. He’s shaky and trembling, still leaning forward on all fours, but his manages to lift his face up to his brother. Papyrus has himself in hand again and is stroking his cock quickly. Sans is barely able to take the image in before his brother is coming and sticky ropes of fluid are being painted over his face.

His brother’s hand comes up to his face then, fingers smearing ejaculate all over him. Sans very nearly moans at that, the touch obscenely gentle after everything else. Papyrus takes those same fingers and drags them slowly into Sans’s mouth. He doesn’t need to say anything; Sans knows what to do. He carefully licks his brother clean, mouth already so full of his taste.

He shivers.

Papyrus nods at him, “Zip yourself up.”

The words don’t register at first and Sans blinks blearily up at him, uncomprehending. Papyrus gives a frustrated little huff and turns away. He’s saying something to the crowd when his words to Sans finally sink in. He hastily reaches down to the jacket he’d forgotten he put on and tries to make his trembling finger cooperate. It does not work. He can’t focus his body enough to zip himself up.

He’s contemplating how utterly fucking _useless_ he is when red-gloved hands reach down and zip up his jacket for him.

Sans looks up at his brother, stutters, “S-sorry, Boss, I—”

“Shut up.” Papyrus won’t look at him. Sans feels his soul sinking. That’s never a good sign.

Once he’s all zipped up, Sans attempts to stand. He barely gets up before he falls back down with a yelp. As if things could get any _more_ embarrassing. He looks towards the crowd to see if they’re laughing but, when he turns, he’s surprised to see that they’ve already dispersed. A second later, and he’s being lifted up. He stares at his brother in shock.

“Papyr—”

“Shut _up_.” His brother cuts him off and Sans obeys. Obeys more out of worry than anything else, really. Because maybe it isn’t exactly the most noticeable, but Sans is familiar with all of his brother's quirks and he doesn’t miss the way his practiced tone wavers and shakes as he says it.

He holds on tight to Papyrus’s uniform as he brother carries him down the steps. Papyrus won’t look at him but Sans continues to stare, trying to read what’s wrong in the blankness of his face. He considers asking again but they’re at the door to their house within minutes and Sans figures he can swallow his words till they’re safe within the confines of their home.

That said, the minute they step through the doors, Papyrus rushes over to the couch and lays Sans down on to it. Sans barely manages to open his mouth to get the words out before his brother holds up a hand.

“Wait here. I will be right back.”

Sans settles against the cushions, body worn out and exhausted. He starts to drift off a little but shakes right back awake as Papyrus walks in again. He’s carrying a bowl and a small dishtowel in hand.

“Pap…”

His brother sits down at the edge of the couch. He carefully runs the damp towel over Sans’s face, cleaning him gently. He moves to unzip the jacket and repeats the same motions over his body. Sans feels warm all over. The good kind of warmth. Fuzzy and pleasant.

“I’m sorry, Sans.” His brother whispers, putting the towel down.

“Hey, do you hear me complaining?” Sans's voice comes out hoarse and over-used but he continues. He hates seeing that guilty expression on his brother’s face, “It was fine, Paps. I’m… I’m fine.”

It’s not entirely the truth but Sans would rather do all of that again than see his brother looking so upset. Papyrus clanks the front of his teeth against his forehead in the facsimile of a kiss. Sans can feel himself blushing. His brother was never one for very obvious displays of affection. Today must have hit him pretty hard.

“It’s really okay, bro. I know why you have to do it.”

Papyrus sighs against him, “Even so.”

“Tell you what,” Sans smiles at him, “Let’s nap on it, yeah? I’m sure we’ll both feel a hundred times better when we wake up.”

His brother nods and stands up. Sans is about to ask him to help him up to the room when Papyrus lays down on the couch next to him. He makes to protest, but his brother lifts him up and shifts until Sans is lying on top of him, chest to chest. Papyrus kisses him again and Sans feels like his soul is about to burst. He laughs it off and hides his burning face in his brother’s scarf.

He falls asleep with his brother’s arms wrapped comfortably around him.

**Author's Note:**

> tfw you wanna read something but no one’s written it so you end up having to write it urself D:
> 
> \-- eta --  
> oh man, oh boy, Ellie wrote a FANTASTIC continuation off of my fic that I would 1000000% recommend! if you liked this, you should _definitely_ give Kneel and Obey a read as well B'D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Kneel and Obey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6880543) by [Askellie (NadaNine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie)




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